


Anansesem

by gingeringfigs



Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Black Panther (2018)
Genre: African Folklore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, Crossover, Fix-It, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-23 04:56:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingeringfigs/pseuds/gingeringfigs
Summary: Erik's story takes a different turn when a dapper stranger in a fedora and dress shoes enters the apartment, introducing himself as Mr Nancy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _We do not really mean, we do not really mean that what we are about to say is true. A story, a story; let it come, let it go._

_Anansi is a spider_  
_Anansi is a man_  
_Anansi is a lazy one_  
_Do little as he can_  
_Yeah, do little as he can_

Erik's mother Dhakirah Stevens used to frequently sing "Anansi" to him to cheer him up whenever he felt down. The lyrics were simple, in the way nursery songs were, but they never failed to make him laugh.

 

Unfortunately, his mother had died early and Erik couldn't remember how the rest of the song went and why he'd laughed at the song. As he clutched at his father's heavy body on the floor, desperately trying to stem the cooling blood, Erik wished he could remember the song.

 

The small cramped flat was awfully quiet.

 

"Oh, dearie me," a voice sighed. "This is a terrible thing indeed."

 

A dark-skinned man with side-burns, dressed in a dapper striped suit and a fedora perched on his head, was standing at the open door. Erik stared at him suspiciously.

 

"W-who are you?!"

 

Erik hated how his voice quavered and sounded weak. The stranger smiled, his teeth shining like a white knife in the dark, "You may call me Mr. Nancy, Erik. I knew your mother well when she was still alive."

 

"...You knew her?" No, wait, that wasn't what he should be focusing on!

 

Erik quickly glanced down at his dad and then back at Mr. Nancy, a small spark of hope flaring, "Can you save my baba?!"

 

Mr. Nancy took off his hat and held it to his chest. He lowered his head and his face was regretful as he gently said, "No. I cannot save your father. It was already too late when you stepped back into this room."

 

 

Erik collapsed, his tears starting again. He curled up into a tiny ball, wrapping his arms around himself as he keened, big ugly hiccuping breaths punctuating his wails.

 

 

Mr. Nancy grimaced. Turning his attention to the dead man, Mr. Nancy spoke, "Sorry, brother. I can't bring you back to life, but I can do you a favour. Do you want to speak to your son one last time before you go to the Savannah?"

 

The curtains rustled.

 

"...Are you sure that you want me to take your son in? Even if it might mean that he would never see Wakanda?"

 

The lights in the hallway flickered.

 

"Fine. A deal it is. But let's ask your boy first. If you know who I am, you should already know that I take free will very _seriously_."

 

Mr. Nancy then dipped his hand into his pocket and took out a fistful of shimmering dust. He threw it into the air and watched as the dust fell and took on the shape of a man.

 

* * *

 

" _N'Jadaka. Listen to me."_ A familiar hand patted Erik's head, shaking him out of his grief. With wide eyes, he looked up, seeing his father N'Jobu alive and well.

 

"Baba!" He threw himself at his father. N'Jobu held his son close, even as more dust started to fall off his form.

 

" _Unyana. Listen. You must go with Mr. Nancy to your mother's family. He will protect you, more than Bast will."_

 

"Okay. What about you? Are you coming too?" Erik asked. N'Jobu shook his head and glanced meaningfully behind him. Erik looked and saw his father's body still lying on the ground. He finally _saw_ that his father before him was glowing faintly, specks of light falling away from his form.

 

Erik wordlessly clung on tighter.

 

N'Jobu stood up then, gently lifting his son up in his arms as he walked towards Mr Nancy. His legs were already fading when he finally placed him down on the floor in front of Mr Nancy. He knelt down to hug Erik one last time.

 

" _I will watch you from the Savannah beyond. Live well. Be happy."_

Erik mutely watched his father's spirit disperse in a glow of light. Once the light had faded, he took a deep shuddering breath. Then he straightened up, his eyes taking on a determined glint as he turned to look at Mr. Nancy with bared teeth, "Where do we go now?"

 

Mr. Nancy put his hat back on and grinned.

 

"New Orleans, for a start."

  

* * *

 

 _20 years later..._  

 

A gold portal swirled to life in the middle of an atelier filled with mannequins. A heavy black boot slid through the swirling gold, followed by the rest of the man's body.

 

The portal winked shut behind him in a shower of sparks. Erik flicked off the errant lingering sparks from his clothes as he called out, "Hey, Nancy! I got that ridiculously expensive tea from Kathmandu you wanted."

 

"Excellent. You're right on time with the tea. The Nigerian buns are just about done."

 

The fragrant scent of butter and coconut wafted through the air as Mr Nancy appeared with a plate of small round buns. Grinning, Erik grabbed one of the buns and took a large bite. Humming in satisfaction, he observed, "Oh _yeah_. I recognise this. These were made by Granny Oshun from Lagos, weren't they? "

 

"Of course. She's the only one who can make them better than I do," Mr Nancy groused, "She still refuses to give me the recipe! Even though we've known each other _forever._ "

 

Erik snorted, amused by Mr Nancy's annoyance. He half suspected that Granny Oshun was actually the Yoruba goddess, but still couldn't be certain. Despite having known her since he was a kid, Erik hadn't seen her demonstrate any supernatural powers not even once. But if culinary skills were the deciding factor, Granny Oshun definitely qualified.

 

He replied, "Have you ever considered that she doesn't give you the recipes because you keep stealing her baked goods?"

 

Mr Nancy wagged his finger at him, "It's not _stealing_ if I compensate her with my finest silk _kangas_."

 

Erik shrugged.

 

Mr Nancy snapped his fingers, two extra pairs of arms appearing in the blink of the eye. He held a teapot, a sugar pot and two tea cups in his other hands. A click of his oxblood oxford shoes. Two stools and a table popped out of thin air.

Used to the spider god's feats, Erik tossed him the dried tea he had gone all the way to Kamar-Taj to collect. Mr Nancy began to brew the tea, scooping out the golden coloured leaves into the teapot with a teaspoon. When he was satisfied with the amount, he tapped the rim of the teapot with the teaspoon. Steaming hot water bubbled in the teapot, welling up from within, a delicate fragrance filling the air.

 

They both sat down and as they waited for the tea to finish steeping, Erik drawled, "Soooo, when I went to Kathmandu for your tea, I saved some white tourist from being mugged. Was he someone important?"

 

Mr Nancy grinned, "Maybe."

 

Erik rolled his eyes, "Fine. I pointed him the right way to Kamar-Taj before he got mugged again. I don't think he could have fought with his hands all damaged. The Ancient One says hello, by the way."

 

Mr Nancy hummed in acknowledgement, "Very good. I think the tea's done."

 

He picked up the teapot and poured the tea into their teacups. As the tea was a green blend, no milk or sugar was added, which was fine by Erik. He preferred it plain.

 

They fell into a companionable silence as they enjoyed their weekly tea break.

 

Once they had finished Granny Oshun's buns, Erik leant forward, resting his arms on his thighs. He cocked a brow and asked with a sharp grin, "What's my next mission?"

 

In response, Mr Nancy sipped his tea and said, "You're awfully eager, _Umhambi_. Don't you have a fashion show in two months?"

 

Erik propped up his chin and snorted, "I cancelled it. The models just ain't cutting it to be my muse and I ain't in the mood to design."

 

"Oh?" Mr Nancy looked at him in mild curiosity. Erik who ran an incredibly popular and successful fashion brand, Silika, growled.

 

"If I have to deal _one_ more time with those..." he bit back the insult, substituting it with a more polite "... _divas,_ I'm gonna do something drastic."

 

"Like setting the catwalk on fire." Mr Nancy dryly said.

 

"...It was part of the plan! It fit the theme." Erik protested.

 

Mr Nancy chuckled, "As you say. It was only an added bonus that the models did not enjoy the experience very much."

 

Erik sheepishly looked away, not denying Mr Nancy's observation.

 

Mr Nancy nodded, "Alright. I have an idea of what your next mission will be...If things go well, you might also find a suitable model for your fashion show."

 

"That would be awesome! Lay it on me." Erik excitedly said, eager to kick ass and take names again as Mr Nancy's _igosa,_ the Golden Jaguar.

 

Mr Nancy took a napkin and wiped his lips clean, as another pair of hands sent the tea set to the kitchen sink and the third pair of hands conjured a familiar silver ring and a worn leather-bound diary that Erik had not expected to see.

 

"...That's my dad's ring and his diary, aren't they." He stated, tentatively reaching out to touch them. The spider god nodded as he clasped two pairs of his hands in front of his chest and in his lap, the last pair of hands going to hold the arms of his chair, the stool having transformed into a comfortable looking armchair.

 

Erik belatedly realised his stool had also changed.

 

Mr Nancy said, "You're ready to have them now. And as for your mission..."

  
His mouth opened in a toothy grin, mischievous glee twinkling in his dark eyes.

 

"I want you to steal the heart-shaped herbs from the heart of Wakanda, under Bast's nose. The cat deserves to have her tail tweaked."

 

Erik was nonplussed. Wakanda? Wasn't that the third world country N'Jobu used to tell him fairytales about when he was a kid? And, wait a minute, wasn't it in the news recently?

 

"Oi, isn't that the country whose King got blown up? Isn't it bad taste to go robbing a poor country of their goods when their King just died?"

 

Mr Nancy cackled. " _N'Jadaka_. Remember those fairytales your old man N'Jobu used to tell you? They were _true_."

 

Golden sparks started to flare under Erik's feet. The spidergod waved at him, "Hold on tight to that ring. It's your birthright as a prince of Wakanda."

 

"What the fu-" Erik never got to finish his sentence as he fell through the portal under him. With a zipping sound, the portal closed. Mr Nancy sipped his tea. He grimaced, "Oh. It's too bitter now."

 


	2. Chapter 2

_WHUMP_

 

Erik landed hard in a sand pit, sending red sand flying. He groaned as the portal in the ceiling above him winked shut.

 

Nancy really had to stop dumping him in random places just for kicks.

 

Pushing himself upright, he squinted into his new dim surroundings.

 

"Is this Wakanda? It's kind...of disappointing."

 

Dimly lit by positively medieval torches, with roughly hewn rocks as building materials, the place he was now in didn't show any sign of modernity, much less the flying ships. Erik stood up and brushed the sand off his clothes, thankful that none of it had gone into his shoes. His eyesight finally adjusted enough to the low lighting, allowing him to see the purple glowing flowers nearby.

 

"Woah."

 

Awed by the beautiful flowers, Erik instinctively knew that these were the heart-shaped herbs Mr Nancy sought. He walked over and knelt down to take a closer look at the plants. He realised that the etheral glow came from within the bulbous part of the heart-shaped flowers. Curious, he gently parted the petals to peer within, and saw a round core that pulsated like a heart, the purple glow brightening and waning in sync.

 

Well then. Mr Nancy had asked for these plants. This was turning to be the _easiest_ mission ever, with no guards standing sentry and his objective right in front of him. With a flick of his wrist, Erik conjured his bag of holding and proceeded to loot the ever-loving shit out of the flower field, a grin on his face.

 

* * *

 

Unable to sleep with his impending kingship on his mind, T'Challa walked towards the temple alone. The bright moon lit the well-trodden path before him, guiding him to his destination. He hoped that Zuri would be there, ready to lend a listening ear and wisdom.

 

Entering the dark temple, T'Challa's enhanced night-vision allowed him to easily navigate the uneven floor and low ceilings. He descended the spiral staircase to the deepest level where Bast's shrine was, brushing his fingers over the earthen walls as he did so.

 

_How many of Wakanda's past kings had done the same before him, including my father, King T'Chaka? Had he also experienced the same doubts and fears when King Azzuri before him passed?_

T'Challa finally reached the end of the staircase. He saw the shadowy form of a man bent over the field of heart-shaped herbs. Thinking it was the ever faithful and diligent Zuri tending to the plants, he called out to him, "Zuri? It is I, T'Challa. I seek your counsel."

 

* * *

 

Erik cursed mentally, berating himself for dropping his guard like a rank amateur in the middle of unsafe territory. He swiftly tossed the last heart-shaped herb he was holding into his magical bag and vanished the bag. He should have made the portal and booked it straight away.

 

But yet, he was curious. Mr Nancy did say that he might find his new model on this little errand.

 

He turned around so he could see the stranger's face. Was his new model going to be this man?

 

.. _..Fuck me, he's gorgeous._

The handsome and fit man dressed in regal black dashiki robes with silver embroidery at his collar and sleeve cuffs, comported himself with the most elegant and dignified poise he had ever seen in anyone aside from Iman. Hell, he might even be more graceful than her. The moonlight streaming in from the stairwell highlighted the well-defined planes of that beautiful face and lord, those lips and eyes. The man was a work of art.

 

Erik had just found his model.

 

"Hey, there, babe. I haven't seen Zuri around, but I was admiring those purple flowers over there. Ain't seen anything like them before."

 

He brazenly stepped out of the shadows to greet the man. Should it go south, he could always teleport away.

 

T'Challa's pretty eyes widened in surprise. Before he could say or do anything, Erik pounced like a jaguar. Using the element of surprise, he knocked T'Challa down and trapped him in a submission hold, taking care not to use more force than necessary. Wouldn't do to bruise that lovely body after all.

 

He purred, "But you know, those flowers ain't much compared to you. I'll like to steal you away..."

 

T'Challa tensed under him, his eyes fierce as he demanded, "Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?"

 

Erik tutted, "I wasn't finished talking. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

 

T'Challa glared.

 

"I was going to say that you're not my target. Well, maybe not now, but I definitely want you," Erik smiled, "to be my model."

 

"... _What_." T'Challa incredulously said, anger dissipating in sheer shock.

 

Erik's smile widened. Flicking his wrist, he summoned a portal back to Mr Nancy's atelier beside him. T'Challa stilled below him, his eyes growing wide at the sight.

 

"How is that...?"

 

"Hey, haven't you heard? Magicians don't reveal their secrets."

 

Erik quickly jumped off the other man and dashed for the portal. To his credit, T'Challa recovered fast and had almost caught up before the portal closed.

 

"Damn it!"

 

* * *

 

In the end, both the Dora Milaje and the Border guards were unable to find any trace of the thief who had successfully bypassed Wakanda's security and stole nearly all the heart-shaped herb flowers from Bast's shrine. The fact that someone had succeeded in stealing the sacred flowers from the heart of Wakanda without anyone knowing was a chilling thought.

The deed had showed that Wakanda was not as isolated and well-defended from outsiders as it should be. They were not prepared for intruders who could teleport at whim. Worse still, if the thief had been an assassin, Wakanda would have lost two kings in a short space of time.

Though T’Challa now sat in the throne, he was not officially King yet. His coronation was postponed until the flowers had regrown and were ready for harvest. They could not carry out the second part of the ritual without the juice of the flowers, and furthermore, it was too dangerous to have the King of Wakanda bereft of Black Panther powers with a potential assassin on the loose. Bast's sacred flowers were key to the Black Panther's supernatural strength.

 

After Okoye and W'kabi finished their reports, the Council Chamber was filled with an uneasy silence.

 

“Who is the thief?” Queen Ramonda asked.

 

“We don't have his identity yet, but we have concluded that he is working with Ulysses Klaue,” W’kabia answered calmly. "Klaue has stolen from Wakanda before."

 

Okoye glanced at him and pointed out, "If the thief is an outsider, he would not have been able to enter, or know that the flowers are important. He must have been an insider."

 

W'Kabi raised an eyebrow and argued, "Not necessarily. King T'Challa did say that the thief was able to teleport. Our security measures did not take that into account. As for the heart-shaped herbs, why would he have taken them if he was Wakandan? Everyone in Wakanda knows that they are poisonous to all except the royal family."

 

Okoye gracefully conceded to her partner's logic, "Your assessment is sound. But, why did he not steal any vibranium? That is the puzzling part."

 

W'Kabi frowned. He said, "Yes, that was the part that did not fit into the hypothesis of him being an employee of Klaue. Klaue desires vibranium above all else..."

 

T'Challa interjected, "What if he is not Klaue's man, but a third party with different aims?"

 

W'Kabi sighed heavily.

 

"...Then we're back at square one with no leads. We don't even know who he is or where he came from. Not even what he wants aside from the herb."

 

The Mining Tribe Elder's braided dreads swang as she sharply said, "This man is dangerous and highly skilled. With no leads, how can we defend against another future attempt?"

 

The River Tribe Elder then spoke up, "The River Tribe can assist in this matter. Someone like this thief with such capabilities, will have made ripples. If he has not already been detected by our intelligence network, we will find out who he is, and assist the Border Tribe in taking steps to prevent another incursion."

 

T'Challa gave him his assent, "Do it. We must find out who he is and arrest him as soon as possible."

 

The River Tribe Elder acknowledged him, "It shall be done."

 

* * *

 

"Oh yes, these flowers are lovely. You did well." Mr Nancy happily crooned as he arranged the purple flowers in a vase, pruning shears, watering can and yet more flowers in his hands.

 

Erik lounged on the sofa, an open sketchbook in his hands as he swiftly sketched his new designs. The beautiful man he met in Wakanda had inspired a new burst of ideas. Absorbed in his work, he barely responded to Mr Nancy.

 

The spider god took no offense. He had expected this. He continued to fuss with the flowers until he was finally pleased with the arrangement.

 

"Aha. This is instagram-worthy!" Mr Nancy took out his mobile and snapped a picture of it. After tagging it and uploading it to his instagram account @anansiweb, he turned to the bag that was still full of the heart-shaped herbs. Erik had outdone himself by robbing the entire field. Always going over the top, his favored _igosa_.

 

Mr Nancy plucked the glowing core from a flower and summoned a cup from the kitchen. He squeezed the juice into the cup and vanished the stains from his hand. Then, he stirred in some honey harvested from his apiary of golden bees.

 

He walked over to Erik and said, "I made you a drink. It's a traditional Wakandan beverage made from the flowers."

 

Erik paused in his sketching and looked at the cup with interest. Having sampled the varied and diverse cuisine across the African continent and the world, he was eager to learn what his homeland's food was like.

 

But past experience told him to be wary, especially when that drink looked like poison.

 

"That looks like a gods damned voodoo brew. Is it gonna make me high as a kite like that time in Haiti with Maman Brigitte?" Erik suspiciously said as he examined the purple liquid.

 

"It won't make you high." Mr Nancy honestly said as he patiently held out the cup. Erik narrowed his eyes at him. He finally relented, "Fine. As long it's not permanent. I did get some nifty tricks off her in exchange..."

 

He took the cup and took a sip. He immediately made a disgusted face, "It tastes so _bitter_! It's like drinking bittergourd juice but a million times worse."

 

"Oh? So the honey wasn't enough to mitigate the bitter taste? Never mind. I can always experiment. How do you feel?"

 

Mr Nancy said as he watched Erik reluctantly finish the bitter drink. Grimacing, he replied, "I'm certainly hella awake now. My tongue is so overwhelmed by the bitterness that it's gone numb. Why the hell did the Wakandans invent this awful drink?"

 

Mr Nancy grinned, "It's a hallucinogenic brew designed to help you commune with the spirits and the gods on the astral plane."

 

"...I shoulda known from the first sip. Fucking hell. How fucked am I?" Erik groaned.

 

"Hmm, Bast is a hard one to reach, so I'm piggybacking on you when you enter your trance. Have fun talking to your dad!"

 

With a shove, Mr Nancy sent Erik spinwheeling into the twilight.


	3. Chapter 3

As Mr Nancy's _igosa_ , Erik was well acquainted with the astral plane, having visited it several times as part of his training with the various _loas_ and gods from the diverse African pantheon under Mr Nancy's guidance.

 

For instance, Agwe, loa of the ocean and aquatic life, made his palace in an underwater plantation filled with seaweeds and coral. On the other end, Maman Brigitte's home was in the burning intense lava of a volcano, as hot as the peppers she loved to eat.

 

When he opened his eyes, he was honestly not expecting to find himself in the dingy corridor of the Oakland block that used to be his home.

 

He looked around with unimpressed disdain, "Really? This is supposed to be Bast's astral plane?"

 

Erik did not see any obvious exits, save for the open path before him. Ah well. The only way out was forward.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Erik strode down the corridor towards the door that led to his childhood home. Finally standing before the door, he hesitated. It had been many years since he left that place. Even if this was just an imaginary version, there was no telling what lay behind that door.

 

To psyche himself up, he muttered under his breath, “Come on. Don’t chicken out. You’ve already faced down other gods in their homes before. Including the gods of death.”

 

Erik flexed his hands and loosened up his body, prepping for any possible threat. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  

* * *

 

"We've found him, your majesty," Okoye said without preamble, standing in front of T'Challa's work desk. T'Challa stopped reading the daily reports on Wakanda and looked at her, "That was fast. How did you manage to track him without any evidence?"

 

The leader of the Dora Milaje activated her kimoyo bead, pulling out a hologram of an instagram photo of the heart-shaped herbs artistically arranged in a vase. The caption was an inane "Flowers of the week!!"

 

Okoye replied, "It was not the Dora Milaje who found him. It was Shuri who had been surfing the American Internet when she saw this photo."

 

T'Challa stared at the photo in utter confusion, not expecting this. Steepling his fingers, he asked, "So. The thief took the herbs just for... _decoration_? Just who is he?"

 

Okoye tapped the photo to switch back to the account's main feed. A scroll through the feed showed that it consisted mainly of well tailored clothes and the occasional scenic landscape photo. She elaborated, "At the moment, we're still investigating who @anansiwebs is, his whereabouts and whether he has any ties with Ulysses Klaue. But we do know one thing – he is a tailor."

 

T'Challa suddenly remembered what the thief had told him that night. No _way_. His consternation must have shown on his face because the general had given him a sharp look. She said, "You think he is the thief?"

 

He slowly responded, "...There is a possibility, but I cannot confirm without visual proof. Is there any 'selfies' he might have taken?"

 

Okoye's nostrils flared, the only sign of her displeasure. She said, "No. This man has no selfies."

 

T'Challa bowed his head in apology, "I'm sorry. It was a foolish question to ask. No self-respecting criminal would be so careless."

 

Okoye shook her head, "No need for apologies, your majesty. We did hope that he would be that foolish, seeing how he actually published the photo of his spoils online."

 

T'Challa chuckled. He wryly replied, "Then, you would not have any work to do."

 

Okoye slyly smiled, "Oh, work never ends. Not around you."

 

With that parting shot, she left T'Challa's study before he could come up with an appropriate response.

 

T'Challa refrained from palming his face.

 

* * *

 

The apartment was the same as Erik last remembered it. Small, but comfortable enough for a small family of three and decorated with an assortment of traditional Wakandan art.

 

As he cautiously moved around the space, he couldn't help but glance at the spot where he had found his father's body years ago.

 

Thankfully, the spot was clean.

 

Erik fingered his father's ring that now hung around his neck on a chain. No sign of his dad. Was there something he needed to do first before he could meet N'Jobu?

 

He looked out of the window and was slightly surprised to see a twilit savannah instead of the familiar cityscape of Oakland. It was surreal, but beautiful, with the starry sky in gorgeous rich purples and blues as the tall grass swayed in the breeze.

 

"The landscape of Wakanda is gorgeous, isn't it?" His father's voice said beside him. Erik turned and saw N'Jobu dressed in a pure white dashiki with silver embroidery at his his collar and cuffs. His voice failed him as he struggled to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.

 

Instead, he stepped over and tightly hugged his father.

 

N'Jobu laughed joyfully, "You've grown so tall, _unyana_. I'm so very proud of you."

 

Erik reluctantly let go. Looking his father in the eye, he finally asked the burning question that had never faded from his mind over the years, "Who killed you?"

 

N'Jobu ruefully smiled, "Straight to the point...just like your mother. Dhakirah never beat around the bush."

 

His father sat down on the couch and patted the space beside him. Erik sat, leaning in close to listen. N'Jobu asked, "You haven't read my diary yet, have you?"

 

Erik shook his head. He hadn't gotten the chance to read through it, and he wasn't as fluent in reading Wakandan script like his spoken Xhosa. N'Jobu looked relieved. He nodded, "That's good. There are some things I wrote in there which I now regret..."

 

He patted Erik's knee, "Mr Nancy was wise to keep the book from you before you were ready. I do not want you to make the same mistakes I did."

 

Erik's impatience and desire to know the truth almost overwhelmed his iron discipline. He was so _close_. N'Jobu pointed at the ring around his neck, "Now, that ring. What Mr Nancy said about your ring being proof of your royal birthright was true. It is a heirloom from your grandfather King Azzuri the Wise."

 

He stared. What? It hadn't been one of Nancy's jokes?

 

His father gestured to the open window, "N'Jadaka, son of Prince N'Jobu, the ring is your key to home...and the throne of Wakanda."

 

Erik abruptly interrupted, "Whoa, whoa, timeout! I was _not_ expecting this. You're saying that I'm a _Prince_? You were a _Prince_? A literal goddamn one, like, monarchy?"

 

Halfway through his rant, he had gotten up from the couch. He furiously paced around the flat as he tried to make sense of this new information. _Wait_ , could it be...?

 

Whirling back on N'Jobu, he asked, "Were you assassinated because someone knew your true identity?"

 

N'Jobu grimaced.

 

"Not quite."

 

Erik took a deep breath to calm himself. He demanded, "Tell me the truth."

 

N'Jobu looked pained. He finally confessed, "I was one of the _Hatut Zeraze_ , the black ops of Wakanda. As part of my job, I was to keep track of the world outside Wakanda. When I was posted to Oakland, I knew little of what it was like to be black in America. It was..."

 

N'Jobu shook his head, "You already know. So I was angry at how unfairly our people were treated, even if they weren't Wakandan. I tried to convince my brother King T'Chaka to do more. But he would not listen. It was tradition and law that no Wakandan should reveal our secrets to outsiders. Then, your mother, who wasn't Wakandan, died. I knew that Wakandan medicine could have _saved_ her. But there was none."

 

He bared his teeth, "In my grief and anger, I made a plan. I would steal the vibranium from Wakanda and give the people the means to rise up against their oppressors."

 

Erik's quick mind joined the dots, "So you betrayed Wakanda and they found out. I get that. But why did they have to kill you?"

 

"I am not an innocent man or the hero you might think I am, N'Jadaka. My plan had killed several innocents in Wakanda and would have killed hundreds more around the world, had it come to fruition," N'Jobu stoically replied.

 

Erik clenched his jaw, still deeply disatisfied with his father's answer. But there was no point in arguing any further. His old man was already dead. But he still hadn't told him who his killer was. So he asked again, "Who killed you?"

 

N'Jobu sighed. He slowly said, "The Black Panther. Otherwise also known as the King of Wakanda. My brother T'Chaka killed me with his own hands."

 

For a moment, Erik said nothing. Then he quipped, "That's some Shakespearean drama right there. Okay. I certainly now have no regrets about stealing those flowers from Wakanda."

 

N'Jobu wryly said, "That does explain how you managed to come here."

 

"Oh yeah. Where the hell did Mr Nancy go?"

 

 

* * *

 

Mr Nancy was somewhere else entirely. He was in a twilit savannah, where the grass grew tall. Under the purple starry sky, he whistled a merry tune as he ambled along the worn path to the large acacia tree in the distance, twirling his cane around his hand.

 

He ignored the black panthers trailing him at a distance. They were only shadow-creatures of Bast and could not touch him. As it should be.

 

When Mr Nancy finally reached the tree, he tapped the tree with the cane and sing-songed, "Helloooo, anybody home?"

 

A large black panther descended from the branches of the tree, its movements sleek and graceful. Bast growled, "Anansi, why did you come to my domain and steal my flowers?"

 

Mr Nancy cheekily grinned, "Do you want the honest answer or the answer you want to hear?"

 

Bast bared her fangs, "Do not play games with me. I want the honest answer."

 

Unperturbed by the panther with his cheeky grin still in place, Mr Nancy nodded, "Honest answer it is."

 

The spider god unfurled all his arms and shrugged, "To fuck with you, of course."

 

Bast roared and pounced.

 

Unfazed, Mr Nancy whipped out his cane that transformed into a newspaper roll and smacked the panther goddess on her snout, sending her crashing, "Bad kitty!"

 

Bast rolled upright, warily eyeing the newspaper roll. How was the spider god able to hit her?

 

"I came here to tell you that the times are a-changin'," Mr Nancy sing-songed as the newspaper roll flickered into an _assegai._ He threw the spear up into the acacia tree. It flew high and cut the stem of a large fruit. The fruit fell into the spider god's hand and the spear reappeared in his other hand.

 

"Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command. The old ways are dyin', the order is fadin'." Mr Nancy hummed. He looked around the savannah that had once been his home millenia ago, "Do your people still believe? In the Old Ways?"

 

Bast did not reply. Her tail flicked. Mr Nancy grinned, "Think on it, kitty."

 

With a jaunty whistle, Mr Nancy turned, took a step and vanished mid-stride.

 


End file.
